Whispers and Rumors
by GoddessofSnark
Summary: She's not sure if there's anything there, or if it's just them being them. But no one can help but notice, and that's why there's the whispers and rumors. Sorta House/Wilson


A/N-I resurface again for this. Don't own em. Do enjoy.

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No mention was ever made about what they were. They simply were. Cuddy had been the first to notice it, but that might have only been because she was the one to know both of them the longest. The sly grins, the way that the they could work wordlessly and still communicate novels to one another. The way they simply _fit._ But she would never say anything. It was something silent. Something that everyone noticed, but pretended to ignore.

It was better for everyone else's mental health.

She wasn't even sure if _they_ noticed it. But it was cute in a way. The way that House would flip-flop on whether or not he supported Wilson's newest choice in brides. How he'd go from hot to cold and back again in a heartbeat. The way that even when the newest wife files for divorce, the "I told you so's" are only half-hearted, and how he's always there to pour the two of them a glass of whiskey to commiserate together over.

The way that Wilson would give himself up than see something happen to his friend. True, Wilson was altruistic, and would have given himself up for anyone in the hospital if they'd asked nicely enough, but House didn't even need to ask. Wilson was just there for him. Always grudgingly paying for lunches, but as much as he tried to superficially make it look as though he hated House mooching, he always put up with it.

She heard the whispers, the rumors. It was an insular community after all. She's heard House laugh it off with jokes, but there's always a hovering of doubt in the voice. Or at least she thinks there is. Perhaps it's just her imagination getting the better of her. After all, it was a bit of a kink of hers-the only thing better than thinking of one very attractive man, was thinking of two very attractive men together.

Neither of them would admit to anything even if there was something. That was perhaps what she found most frustrating. Neither of them would dare break down their carefully constructed facades. But there was a moment, when Wilson had left-when House had pushed him away, when she had seen the cynicism and the sarcasm flicker away to pain, before the stoic front was put back up, and the emotions were again dulled by alcohol and painkillers.

She shuddered to think of what his liver looked like. More than once she'd considered suggesting he switch over to plain oxycottons, so that at least he wouldn't be taxing his liver twice over between the aceteminophan in the vicodin and the alcohol, but that would only be enabling him. And if there was one thing she refused to do, it was enable House. She'd tolerate it, because she had no choice, but she wouldn't enable it.

House would have never admitted that he missed Wilson though. He would have never admitted that he actually had feelings. It was why she was fairly sure that while everyone else noticed just how close they were, the two men involved were completely oblivious to it. House would never allow himself to even believe he could love another human being-not since Stacy had shattered him. He'd given in to being a cynical demi-god who thought that emotions were for lesser mortals.

And Wilson would never admit to needing to be loved. It was funny, Psych had been her favorite rotation when she was in med school. But she had opted for something much more sensible. More logical. Psych was all well and good, but there was the nagging feeling that had she picked psychiatry that she would end up with her hair permanantly affixed to the back of her head in a tight bun, trapped in a loveless marriage, hated by her inlaws. So she might have the entire Fraiser collection in her DVD case, but she had no doubt that she'd have become a real-life Lilith if she had opted for psychiatry. But that didn't mean that she didn't have fun analyzing her co-workers while no one was looking.

And Wilson would hate her if she ever told him what she thought of his many failed relationships. He wanted to be needed, to be depeneded upon. He wanted to fix other people, because it made him feel like he was needed. He was the sort who became a doctor because he needed to fix people, not because he wanted to. Because he needed to be needed, needed to be loved. And the only way he knew how to draw love out of people was to fix them-to take broken, damaged goods and methodically put humpty-dumpty back together again, succeeding where all the king's horses and all the king's men had failed. The one thing that he didn't realize about himself, was that once Humpty-Dumpty was fixed, that they no longer needed him. And he'd move on, because he couldn't find a reason for the relationship.

And that made her afraid of if there was actually something there beyond the whispers and rumors. She couldn't imagine a "fixed" House, cured of all of his demons. And she couldn't imagine a Wilson without the one project he'd devoted all of his life to. Even if there was nothing to the whispers and rumors, it was a cold hard fact that the friendship hinged upon Wilson accepting House for who he was, but still attempting to fix him. It seemed to be what drove him through beyond everything else.

She looked up from her desk to see them walking by-close enough that their hands would brush as they'd walk, but they didn't seem to notice. There was something between them that ran much deeper than friendship, something between them that couldn't be described, but she wouldn't say it aloud. She'd wait for them to realize it first. If they ever did.


End file.
